Off The Path
by The-MarmaladeCat1
Summary: Winter in Macalania brings the fiends with it, and a trip off the main path leads to disastrous results.  Jecht, Braska & Auron.


Originally written for ff_exchange on LJ. To answer the prompt "Jecht, Auron & Braska. (non-pairing) One of them dies, spectacularly and non-canonically (which is to say, it's totally fine to kill off any one of them, as long as it's not how they die in canon). BLOOD, GUTS, ANGST, PAIN, DEATH, HURT, RRRRGHH. Yes, I am a cruel fan."

Thank you to my beta owlmoose for all her help.

* * *

><p><strong>Off The Path<strong>

Winter comes early to Macalania and brings the fiends with it.

There is frost in the corner of every window in this tiny inn, and the warmth of the hearth is not enough to keep the cold from biting. Auron hunches low over his drink and listens to Jecht arguing good-naturedly with the innkeeper over just where it was they went wrong as they made their way north through the woods. Braska sits opposite him, eyes on the fire, and Auron purses his lips, angry all over again that they ended up so far off the path, taking shelter in this rude little hut that can barely be given the title of "inn."

"Auron," Braska says softly.

He straightens just a little and smooths the scowl from his features, as much of it as he can at least. "My Lord?"

"It's snowing again," Braska says, and it makes Auron want to clench his fists and strike the surface of the table. They're so close now, so far along their journey, and he knows that every last experience is unlikely to ever be repeated. Each little mistake costs Braska a memory, one last look at how the world can be when it is beautiful. To delay the inevitable is not within Auron's nature, but nor is he blind to the needs of his summoner.

"I apologise, my Lord. Had we not strayed from the path as we did, then we would have found our way back to the inn on the lake. I know you enjoyed our stay there on the outward journey."

Really, Auron could kick himself for letting Jecht convince him that his own instinct for direction had been off. But Braska had been gently pressuring him to be more tolerant of the other man for weeks now, and he'd made the mistake of thinking that perhaps, just once, it wouldn't do them any harm. Except it had, and now here they are in this awful little run-down establishment, drinking stale beer and shivering in the draft that creeps in under the door. One would have thought that a residence so accustomed to the extremes of the forest's weather would think to batten down its hatches more tightly against the cold. Or perhaps living so close to the temple has made this family as cold-inured as the local Aeon.

"Auron," Braska chides him gently. "This detour is nothing but that – a small sidestep from the main path. We'll be back on our way in no time."

Auron wishes he could believe that, but Braska's expression is calm, his eyes asking him not to feel the anger that so clearly twists within him. "Of course," he replies, for the sake of his summoner.

On the other side of the small room, Jecht yells suddenly in understanding and slams a palm against the map, making the frame clatter and the thin inner wall shake. He and the innkeep share a grin of mutual revelation as the mystery of the missed turning is solved. Braska is watching them both and smiling.

Auron scowls and turns his gaze back to the fire.

* * *

><p>Jecht snores unbearably, which is how Auron knows that the other man is still awake.<p>

This tiny little inn, for all its drafty common room, has a set of two neat little guest rooms tucked away around the back of the central chimney, sealed off from the owner's living quarters by a turn to the left at the end of the curving corridor and a single, wooden door. Even in separate rooms however, Auron should be able to hear the sound of snoring. Yet all he hears over the irregular creaking of the outer walls and the mutter and rumble of wind in the chimney, is the soft, even sound of Braska's breathing. He glances over at the dark shape of the summoner, wrapped tight in his blanket with his outer robe draped on top for an extra layer, and wishes again that they'd stuck to the path and made it as far as the inn on the main route. Saving a few coins in this place has not made up for his Lord's discomfort and the irritation of straying so far from their intended route.

As quietly as he is able, he pushes aside his blanket and shrugs on his outer robe, sliding his feet into the boots he has left at the edge of the bed. Above the blankets the room is so cold that his breath steams on the air and he frowns again into the dim light of the room. Outside the snow has stopped falling and the night must be clear and full of moonlight for the room is illuminated in cold silver. Moving silently, he makes his way across the small room and slips out into the corridor.

He finds Jecht in the common room nursing a flagon, his feet up on the back of another chair as he stares into the fire. He is bare-shouldered as he normally is, not even bothering to drape the thick winter coats they have purchased across himself despite the bitter chill of the room. Sometimes Auron wonders if the man is entirely human. Jecht looks up at him as he enters and Auron cannot help but drop his gaze to the flagon in the other man's hand.

"S'alright. Just hot milk. I didn't even add a little dram!" Jecht's grin is easy and knowing, and Auron is glad that the only light comes from the fireplace, otherwise Jecht might see the blush that colours his cheeks.

"So I would expect," he replies stiffly. "After all, you gave your word."

"That I did, that I did," says Jecht. "Doesn't stop you doubting though, does it?"

Auron scowls and Jecht laughs. "Sit down, will you? You're making me uncomfy standing around like that."

With one foot he kicks another chair out from beneath the table and gestures towards it. Stiffly, Auron lowers himself onto the cold wood, settling himself on the edge of the seat. Jecht has resumed his fire-gazing, turning the flagon of hot milk in his hands. For a few moments there is nothing but silence between them as Auron watches thin curls of steam rise from mug. Then he leans forward a little, his shadow stretching up the wall behind them. "We need to leave early tomorrow in case the snow starts in properly. The innkeep says that winter moves fast this close to the temple and if we don't get back on the main roads we may find ourselves cut off."

Jecht snorts softly. "Wouldn't want that, would we?"

"No," Auron replies sharply. "We've had enough distractions already."

"Hey..." says Jecht, his voice pitched low. "What's your problem? We got off the path a little! So what? We'll just make the time up as we go."

We made Braska trudge through the ice and the cold, exposing him to unknown dangers without a clue as to where we were! These are the things that Auron wants to say, but doesn't because even as he thinks them he knows that they're unfair. Braska is kitted out for the cold and besides which he has long since acquired the Aeon Shiva, and Auron noticed at once all those weeks ago that having done so the summoner no longer shivers in the chill. Sometimes he wonders if it's only him that feels the cold any more. So he simply glowers at Jecht and watches as the other man laughs and shakes his head in return.

"You need to relax more," Jecht says. "The way you go on you'd think we'd already failed or something!"

"Don't say that," Auron says sharply, overcome suddenly by the need to deny such a possibility. The very idea that having come so far and endured so much, the quest might still peter out before its conclusion disturbs him deeply. Already the spectre of the Calm Lands hovers just out of sight, waiting for them to test its vast and enduring will against their own.

Jecht lifts the fingers of one hand from the arm of the chair in a gesture of placation. "All right," he says. "All right, keep your hair on. I didn't mean anything by it."

Auron glares, angered by his own reaction and feeling as ill at ease with Jecht now, after so many weeks of becoming accustomed to him, as he did when he first met the man. There is no obvious cause for this and he berates himself internally for such mental weakness.

There's silence then for a long stretch, and only the crack of the fire and the whine of the wind beneath the door disturbs them. "Is he asleep?" Jecht asks suddenly and Auron nods. "Good. He needs the rest. Innkeep says that this type of weather brings worse fiends with it."

Auron frowns and rises to his feet. He crosses the common room in a few short strides and lifts the edge of the thick material that covers the window. At once he is forced to squint against the glare of moonlight on snow. The night outside is clear and brittle with ice, the small clearing that surrounds the inn made clean again by the the flurries laid down earlier in the evening. The snow has finally ceased though, leaving the potential for hope again come the morrow.

"It's stopped," he says. Then, "What type of fiends?"

"The usual," Jecht replies with a shrug. "Like what we met coming this way last time, but more of them I guess."

"You guess?"

"He was making dinner, I didn't want to distract the guy!"

Auron sighs and his lips thin. He lets the curtain fall back in place and at once the cold that radiates from the glass cuts off. He stands for a second, letting his eyes become accustomed once more to the gloom of the common room, realising how warm it must be in here compared to out there.

"There's a chart on the desk," Jecht offers. "Got all the local fiends on it."

The chart turns out to be tatty around the edges and well handled - even in the glow of the fire he can tell that in a good light it would be no stranger to being labelled as yellowed. "See?" says Jecht. "The great Jecht wouldn't leave you wondering!"

Auron ignores him and spreads the chart out in front of the fire. If this record is accurate, and it would tie in with his limited knowledge of this area, the fiends of Macalania travel in with the winter, haunting the areas around the outskirts of the temple but congregating where the snows are at their deepest and the Crusaders rarely tread.

They are hardly in the worst area for encountering the creatures, but then, they are not as close to the main path as Auron would prefer. He leans back on his heels and frowns across the room at the map hanging on the wall.

"Don't worry about it," Jecht says. "It'll be fine. We've handled worse than this already. Braska'll be safe as houses with the pair of us around."

Auron glances at him, then snorts softly and begins to roll up the fiend chart.

* * *

><p>They set out as early as they are able, hoping to avoid further snowfall, and even though Braska dawdles just a little over breakfast, Auron does his utmost not to chase his lord too much. For all that their summoner enjoyed a full night's sleep the previous night, he seems content to sit in the tiny common room, wrapped in his robe and staring dreamily at the fire as he sips occasionally from his mug.<p>

Nonetheless, Jecht's unending enthusiasm soon takes over as he sweeps in from outside, bringing the morning chill with him and the scent of fresh snow. He has Braska up and out of his chair, laughing at his antics, far more quickly than Auron could have managed and still remained diplomatic. It has long since stopped paining Auron that Jecht can do this and his summoner responds to it, and these days he simply takes advantage of it for what it is, one more way to smooth their journey.

Between them, they find themselves back out on the path and heading towards the main road not long after breakfast. The snow is all around them and it makes picking out the paths difficult, even with solid directions from the innkeep. By his estimation they should reach the main path with three hours hard walking, an easily attainable goal for any of them.

Shouldering their bundles, all of them wrapped tight in the furs they purchased, save for Jecht who wears his open at the chest for no discernible reason other than because he _can_, they head out amongst the trees and back towards civilisation.

* * *

><p>Winter in Macalania comes early, and it brings the fiends with it. They <em>know<em> that, and yet still, they don't see the danger until it's already on top of them, angling towards Braska on paws as big as dinner plates, at a run that's nothing more than a lope and yet still is entirely too fast for anyone to react.

Braska sees the beast come at him out of the line of trees and turns, his staff beginning to rise. Jecht yells, and maybe Auron does too, but Auron's closer and he starts forward first. However the path is treacherous and not long ago it started to snow again. His feet slip on a rock hidden beneath the snow and he goes down hard on one knee, the weight of his sword pulling him off balance. He struggles, looks up and sees the great mass of the beast slam into Braska's side with a thud that makes his heart go cold. Braska's staff is torn from his hands as the beast impacts with him and the moment stretches as the weapon cartwheels gracefully through the air, until suddenly both Braska and the beast are rolling across the snow in a tangle of robes and long, silver fur.

Jecht is already pounding past him, his sword raised and blazing with fire. Auron gets his feet beneath himself and launches after him which is when the second fiend comes bounding from the tree line and straight across his path. He gets the flat of his blade beneath its chest, but the creature's sheer momentum carries it forward, tearing the sword from his grip and hammering them both into the earth.

Auron grabs for its throat as its maw gapes into his face, all teeth and stinking carrion breath. He gets the fingers of one hand into the loose flesh at the side of its neck, but loses his grip for a second with the other. The beast's head twists around the hold he has on it, trying to bite at the arm which grips it and he grabs for it again with his free hand. This time his fingers find purchase and he feels something wet and rubbery give beneath his thumb as he digs his fingers into whatever part of the beast he can reach. It screams in fury and Auron feels saliva and blood splatter his face, but he has no time for this! Braska has been knocked down by one of these creatures and could be wounded or worse.

He brings his knee up with a roar of fury and wrestles the beast from on top of him. It rolls sideways, kicking out with its back legs as it struggles to right itself, but he is faster and although his sword lies out of reach he delivers a mighty kick to the thing's ribs, keeping it down whilst he makes a grab for his weapon. The sword once more in his hands he hacks at the beast just as it coils its legs under itself and makes to leap at him. His blow takes it across the face, the strength behind the move cutting the creature near in two, and it explodes in a shower of pyreflies.

Spinning on his heel, Auron searches for the rest of the fight. Across the clearing he can see Jecht engaged in a dangerous dance of bait and dare with two more of the beasts, and behind him, lying crimson and stark against the snow, is Braska. After that, Auron is not entirely clear on what happens. He knows that somehow he makes it across to the beasts that are circling Jecht, and he knows that he engages one of them, but the details are unclear. All that remains is the battle and the fearsome fangs of the beast that tear at him from all sides.

These creatures are wound around with black magic and where their claws score him the world feels strange and unreal. He thinks there might be a point where he finds himself fighting Jecht, but then the fight changes again and he's faced once more with a great, snarling mouth and fangs that reach for him.

In the end, he does not save Braska. He leaves Jecht fighting the last creature somewhere off to one side and then crawls from beneath the body of the second beast that he has slain towards where Braska lies. He can smell blood and he knows before he's even reached him that his summoner is dead. He sits for a long time then with Braska in his arms and holds him, because there is nothing else he can do. Phoenix Down is the stuff of legend and not something that an ill-favoured monk and his heathen summoner would ever be able to afford.

Somewhere in the distance, Jecht is still fighting, but Auron is no longer listening.

* * *

><p>"Come on," says a voice. "Get up. <em>Get up!<em> Damn it, Auron, I can't do this on my own! Don't you do this. Don't you do this to me! You stupid bastard! What's wrong with you, it's just a scratch! Get up!"

The voice is insistent but the snow is warm and he has no reason to move. There is no reason to pick up and go on and Braska is still dead beside him and he has failed and perhaps all he can do is stretch out here and just be still for a while. The idea is enticing, his own personal Calm Lands out here in the winter and the soft song of the frozen woods. But no Sin for him, not any more. Nothing more he can do about that. They took the chance and then they took the fall too.

He thinks the snow must be falling again because he can feel it cool as it touches his face and then wet as it melts across his cheeks. That's enough, Jecht, he thinks. Quite enough for any of us.

* * *

><p>When he awakes it is still winter and Braska is still dead.<p>

There's a strange scent on the air and it takes him a moment to place it before his mind catches up with reality. Healing herbs, the type of thing the Crusaders use when they don't have a proper healer around to help them. He blinks and the skin of his face feels tight and strange. There's a ceiling above him that he recognises from last night and the sound of wind in the chimney. He sits up and pain shoots through his body, pain like he's not felt for a very long time and he knows that even if he didn't feel it during the fight, those fiends hurt him and hurt him bad.

Braska is dead, and he's still alive. The thought of it lays him back down on the bed with more weight than even that of the pain that grips him. He has failed his summoner, just as he failed his temple. After that, there is nothing left. Inside he feels as cold as winter and he wonders how he ever got back.

Jecht.

Sudden guilt strikes him as he realises that he left the other man to finish the fight alone. For all he knows it wasn't Jecht that brought him back here, but another person. Again he struggles to sit up, fighting against the pain of bruises that go bone deep and flesh that has been stitched back together.

"Jecht?" he calls and is shocked by how hoarse his own voice sounds. "Jecht!"

A few moments later there is movement in the doorway and a slim figure approaches. Not Jecht, but the innkeeper's young son. "I'll get him," he says. "Lie down, I'll get him. Dad! _Dad_!"

Auron lies back as the boy leaves and it's not long before he hears the distinctive sound of Jecht's voice and his footsteps moving down the corridor towards the room. He's obviously hale enough to be up and about and somehow, strangely, that fails to surprise Auron.

The innkeeper's wife is with him when he arrives and Auron feels Jecht hovering in the doorway as the woman checks his bandages and fusses with his blankets. He finds himself not wanting her to leave, not wanting to be left alone with the other man lest they have to hold a conversation with one another. He doesn't think he could face that.

But eventually, satisfied that he hasn't completely undone her work with his struggling, the lady of the inn leaves and silence falls between them. The boy is still in the corner, watching him with wide, dark eyes, until Jecht gestures at him and sends him fleeing with a single rough word. And then they are alone, properly so.

For a long time they say nothing and all there is between them is the sigh of the wind around the outside walls of the inn and the soft creak of the walls shifting slightly beneath the force of it. It is impossible to speak in such a circumstance, too difficult to find a way to start, and yet.

"We brought him back. Burned him. Had to," Jecht says. His voice is gruff and his words short, as though filling in the gaps around them is too much for him, too uncertain a mental footing. "It's been four days."

You're lucky to be alive. Auron hears the words even though they are not spoken aloud. He doesn't agree and nor does he reply. He simply closes his eyes and listens to the wind crying in the chimney and the creak and rattle of the roof.

After a while, Jecht leaves and Auron listens to his footsteps until they fade. And then there's nothing left but the wind and the cold and that somehow seems fitting.

* * *

><p>It's another week before Auron is fit enough to walk again, and by that time the winter has moved in for real and brought blizzards with it. They are close enough to the temple for it to be the influence of the Aeon at work, but the outcome is the same and it traps them here as surely as had the doors been bolted from the outside.<p>

It's evening when he decides that he can no longer abide the confines of his bed and the melancholy of his thoughts. Late evening too, and he knows that the family have already retired to their rooms as he heard them all pass by not long before, counting them off until the silence returned. After that he makes his decision to rise.

It's a slow, painful process, even now, and the weakness in his legs and arms makes his lips harden and his fists clench. But he pulls on his robe and then the thick fur coat too over the top of it, because it's still so cold in this room that he can see his breath on the air. And then he pulls himself to his feet and makes his slow way to the common room.

He finds Jecht as he found him all those nights ago, sat before the fire with his feet up on one of the other chairs. Stiff and limping, Auron makes his way over to him and accepts the chair that is kicked out for him. And then, for a long time, they do not speak, because what is there left to say?

"I'm still going to Zanarkand," Jecht says suddenly and Auron starts.

"Why?" he asks. What is there left for them now? What possible reason could Jecht have to carry on now that, that Braska, that their _summoner_, is gone? Surely, he has had long enough now to let the drink seep from his body and leave his mind clear once more. There is no city of light and music waiting for him out there in the far north, he must know that now.

"Because I made a promise," Jecht replies. "And I always keep my promises."

Auron stares and then shakes his head and looks away. The fire crackles and shifts in the hearth, sending up a cloud of sparks. He made promises too once. To protect and to keep someone safe. But those promises he has not kept and if such promises made from the heart can be so easily broken, then what is there left truly? He can still feel Braska's blood on his arms and the fading warmth of his body, the weight of him across his knees and the stink of the fiend that killed him.

"I told you," Jecht says. "We burnt him."

"Yes," replies Auron, harshly.

The fact that he wasn't awake for it seems like the perfect completion to a perfect crime of weakness. He failed his summoner, so what possible right does he have to take care of his last rites? Of course, the pyre will not be enough. They have failed more surely than that.

"I've been thinking," says Jecht. "We need a summoner."

_Don't tell me how this works!_ Auron wants to snarl at him. _I've been in the church longer than you've spent sober!_ But he doesn't, because what's the point? Because he has failed, Braska will return a fiend. Summoners are rare enough and in this weather and in this place, so far off the path, there will not be another one for many months.

"So I'm going to Zanarkand. Do you want to come with me?"

Auron blinks, and then lifts his head. Jecht has turned his face to stare at him, his eyes intense and full of some purpose that Auron can barely grasp. "Go to Zanarkand?" he asks, repeating the words foolishly.

"Yeah."

"Why would we do that?"

Jecht's eyes have not left his face and Auron feels like he has missed something vital, some step of logic that the other man has made simple without letting him know how. He shakes his head, "You're insane," he whispers. "You always were."

Jecht laughs then, a hearty, robust sound that has no place in the middle of their failure. Of Auron's failure. "Well then, guess it's up to me. I just figured you'd want to tag along. Do the right thing, you know?"

Auron glares at him, and no matter how strong the fire in him burns he knows he doesn't have the physical strength right now to lay the other man out with a punch. He deserves it though, for all the times he's dragged them down and slowed them and gotten in the way. With a growl he staggers to his feet, almost unbalances and shoves away the suddenly concerned hand that Jecht puts out for him. He doesn't need help from this man, he's done enough harm already. Alight with his rage and his pain, Auron staggers across the room towards the bedrooms.

"Auron!" Jecht calls after him, but he doesn't listen. The door to the corridor bangs closed behind him with a sound loud enough to wake the dead.

* * *

><p>It's two weeks before the blizzards abate.<p>

Jecht and Auron set out into the calm of the snow-blanketed forest and this time they are ready. Wrapped tight against the cold they are equipped with the best charms the inn could afford to spare them, handed over in recognition of a grief and failure that did not bear putting into words. And this time they do not intend to fail.

Jecht leads and Auron follows. He has Braska's staff slid through a loop in his pack, because he refuses to hold it in his hand. It would be disrespectful, he tells Jecht. _It's too soon_, he does not say. Jecht just shrugs and watches him with dark eyes that hold some thought that Auron cannot quite grasp.

Despite their circumstances, they meet no fiends on their return to the main path.

"We should drop by the temple," Jecht says.

"What for?" Auron grates, dreading the thought of facing the sad eyes and sympathetic gestures. He does not think he can abide the sight of their pity. It would take from him what little he has left and grind it away to nothing.

Jecht shrugs. "We need a summoner," he says.

Auron stares at him, thoughts racing through his head. To replace Braska so soon with another is unthinkable. A betrayal of their purpose, a betrayal of their friend. The anger must show on his face because Jecht shrugs and raises his hands in a placating gesture.

"Hey...we'll need some proper supplies too, right? Can't live on snow and Shoopuf milk for the rest of the trip."

"What trip?" Auron snarls. "It's over, Jecht."

But that look is still in Jecht's eyes, dangerous and full of challenge, and it makes Auron want to throw down his sword and swing for the other man right here on the path.

Jecht looks at him, and then at the summoner's staff that rises above Auron's shoulder. "I made a promise," he says. "I figure you did too."

And then he turns his back and walks away. He leaves Auron standing in the snow gaping after him with rage and confusion and grief all tripping each other up in their haste to force themselves out of him. He wants to yell at the other man, to howl his grief and his pain and his shame at the silent, snowbound landscape. To beg for things to be different and to rail against the cruelty of a world that does not care for promises made from the heart.

In the end, Auron says nothing. But after a while he shoulders his burden, bends his head into the wind, and follows after the other man. It doesn't take the snow long to fill the tracks they leave behind.


End file.
